“Banish all unkind suspicion from your breast, Mr. Doctor,” said the Bear. “No one ever need fear from me a single rude hug,—such as my ancestors were too apt to give.”
“Oh, we feel quite satisfied,” said Mrs. Littlepump, “that your conduct will be of the very best kind. Pray take a seat near the fire. The children will all make room for you.”
The children all made room enough in a trice, and more than enough, as they crowded back as far as they could and left a large open circle opposite the stove.
The Bear laid one paw upon his grateful breast and advanced towards the fireplace.
“Permit me to begin with warming my nose,” he said.
As the door of the stove was now closed, the Bear bent his head down, and moved his nose backwards and forwards in a sort of a semi-circle, seeming to enjoy it very much.
“As my nose is very long,” said he, “the tip of it is the first part that gets cold because it is so far away from my face. I fear it may not seem a well-shaped one, but it is a capital smeller. I used to be able, when at a distance of several miles, to smell—ahem!”
Here the Bear checked himself suddenly. He was going to say something about his life at home in the woods that would not be thought very nice in Dr. Littlepump’s parlour. But he just caught himself up in time. In doing this, however, his confusion at the moment had made him neglect to observe that a part of the stove was again red hot. He came a little too close and all at once burnt the tip of his nose!
The children would certainly have laughed, but as the Bear started back he looked quickly round the room. So everybody was afraid to laugh.
“And you have, no doubt, a very fine ear for music,” said Mrs. Littlepump, wishing to relieve the Bear from his embarrassment.